


False Friends and False Prophets

by Vermin_Disciple



Series: Where No Occult (Or Ethereal) Being Has Gone Before [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Crack, Crack Crossover, Gen, Humor, Religion, Stand Alone, Works in this series can be read independently and in any order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermin_Disciple/pseuds/Vermin_Disciple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aziraphale is <i>definitely not</i> trying to exert divine influence over Captain Sisko.</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Friends and False Prophets

"How _could_ you?" said Crowley, jabbing a finger in Aziraphale's general direction. "I thought we were fr-"

"Foresworn enemies?" supplied Aziraphale. "And what is it that I'm supposed to have done?" 

"We have an Arrangement!" hissed Crowley. It took talent to hiss a sentence with no s's in it, but Crowley had natural aptitude and many years of practice.

"Of course," said Aziraphale, now looking honestly perplexed. "Crowley, I really haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play coy with me, angel. I know all about your weekly dinners with Captain Sisko." 

"Oh, that," said Aziraphale.

Crowley crossed his arms, and attempted a wounded expression. It wasn't very convincing. "Yes, that." 

"I assure you, my dear, I'm not trying to exert any divine influence on him." 

"I know," said Crowley. "You're just in it for his cooking." 

Aziraphale looked a bit sheepish. "He is a very good cook." 

"So I've heard," said Crowley bitterly. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find decent, non-replicated Earth cuisine on this station?"

"Can't you just conjure some out of the ether?"

"It's not the same and you know it," he snapped. "And all this time, you've been enjoying fresh, delicious, home-cooked Cajun—" 

"Creole." 

"What's the difference?" 

"I don't know, but Captain Sisko was quite insistent about there being one." 

"Anyway, that's not the point," said Crowley. "The point is, you've been holding out on me. Frankly, I'm _hurt_." His 'hurt' expression wasn't any more convincing than his 'wounded' one. "How did you worm your way into his social circle, anyway? You don't have any useful function on this starbase."

"He came to the shop to examine my collection of Bajoran religious texts."

"So he said. I think Mr. Garak may have insinuated to him that you are a suspicious character. I told you that opening a bookshop on the Promenade was a bad idea." 

In fact, Crowley knew for certain that Garak considered Aziraphale a highly suspicious character, and Crowley was now heartily regretting having encouraged that line of thought. 

The angel sighed. "Poor Mr. Garak. A lost soul if ever there was one." 

Three hundred years since first contact, and still neither of them were sure whether aliens had souls, or whose jurisdiction those souls fell under. Both sides were keeping mum on the issue, presumably to cover their embarrassment over the fact that they didn't know either. It was probably something to do with Ineffability. 

"Though he would do better to mind his own business, and stay away from mine. His literary tastes really are appalling," added Aziraphale. "Anyway, I explained to Captain Sisko that the Bajoran prophecies in my collection are for display only, and that while I couldn't possibly _part_ with them, you understand, I would be happy to let him borrow them on occasion…"

"And then when he discovered how knowledgeable you are on the subject, he decided to invite you over and pick your brain. Stuffing you with jambalaya was just incidental." 

"Exactly," said Aziraphale, rather too smugly for someone supposedly so holy. 

"Hold on, so what you're saying is that in addition to deceiving _me_ , you've also been indulging in gluttony while proselytizing alien religions with a false prophet?"

"I did not _deceive_ you," exclaimed Aziraphale, exasperated. "I just didn't tell you about it. I'm not required to report all my activities to you, you know." 

"Lies by omission."

"And the Emissary isn't exactly a prophet, he's more of a go-between. Less one-sided, you see. Instead of just using him to send messages to the Bajoran people, the wormhole aliens are relying on his perspective to understand linear existence. It's all very cyclical. And discussing is _not_ the same as proselytizing." 

"Still, I don't think your lot would approve of you calling him 'the Emissary,'" said Crowley. "It does sound rather like you're sanctioning it." His irritation was giving way to delight at the angel's increasingly flustered state. 

"You're being very unreasonable about this." He met Crowley's eyes, and Crowley knew that he had won. "Oh, alright. He's been looking for information about the Pah-wraiths, and they're really more in your purview anyway. Come by the shop next week and I'll introduce you." 

Crowley knew nothing whatsoever about the Pah-wraiths, but he could wing it. Concocting a little religious mumbo-jumbo was easy enough, and definitely worth it if everything he'd heard about Sisko's gumbo was true. 

***

Benjamin Sisko wasn't sure what to make of Mr. Aziraphale's friend, Mr. Crowley. The man had been rather evasive about his species, for one thing. Sisko _had_ seen a few aliens over the years who had eyes like his – bright yellow, and with those distinctive vertical slits for pupils – but Crowley didn't look like any of them. 

"The place I come from is a long way from here," he hissed. He had a habit of hissing his s's. "Believe me, you wouldn't want to drop in for a visit."

It was clear that he and Aziraphale had known each other a long time, although they were both equally vague about that. 

"We met on Earth, many years ago," said Aziraphale. 

" _Many_ years," agreed Crowley. 

Aziraphale was _probably_ human. That was how he presented himself, anyway, and he hadn't technically done or said anything that would suggest otherwise. But there was something off about him that Sisko couldn't quite put his finger on. Some ageless quality in his eyes that reminded him a little of some of the oldest joined Trills he'd known. Both he and Crowley talked about history like they'd been there, and Sisko couldn’t help but feel that, whatever they claimed to the contrary, the two of them must have come from the same place, wherever that place might be.

Or maybe he was just letting Garak's suspicions get to him. Garak – being _Garak_ – hadn't stated _outright_ that he thought that there was something suspicious about the Promenade's antique book dealer and his mysterious alien friend, but he'd dropped a few hints and cryptic comments on the subject. Then again, he didn't know what Garak's angle was in casting doubt on these two, and the idea that he was merely trying to be helpful about station security was, in itself, suspicious. Garak would probably be insulted if Sisko started trusting him. 

They were _probably_ harmless enough. Still, it was best to keep an eye on them, just in case. 

Besides, you couldn't ask for more appreciative dinner guests.


End file.
